Anomaly
by CaveDwellers
Summary: oneshot. He had been what they wished they still had the ability to be even while he was the feared authority figure none of them desired to fight. That was probably what made him so great.


Disclaimer it's not mine. Get over it.

Summary: Yeah, so this is just my take on what was going through some of the character's minds during the Sandaime's funeral. Why? Because I was watching this one video on Youtube, 'Shadow of Fire' (totally awesome vid, by the way, I recommend you check it out), and it inspired me to write this. It's random, it's …well, yeah, I have nothing else to say about this fic.

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The sky was dark and overcast, yet the temperature was cool. Crisp even, especially when soft breezes came and whisked around fallen leaves on deserted paths. If it started to rain, not many would be very surprised. All of the people gathered were wearing nothing but black, which almost made it look like a dark sea of variously colored floating heads. An odd sight for passerby to witness, but seeing as anyone who could've been passerby was one of the aforementioned people, it was not remarked upon.

Each stood stiffly in their rows, the expressions on their faces ranging from somber to barely contained grief and everywhere in between. Some didn't even bother holding back their grief and were simply letting it all out, but their numbers weren't many and the people closest to them would, more often than not, shoot them disapproving glances every now and then. Most of those assembled had already lost more than one loved one and had associated so much with death that it almost seemed too casual to acknowledge directly anymore. They had cried so much and for so many different reasons that they had no more tears to shed.

In front of this great assembly of people was a short, wide cloth-covered table flanked by two longer, thinner tables, creating what could only be described as a 'U' shape. Each of the flanking tables supported one planter apiece. Inside the planters were displays of beautiful white flowers.

Behind that entire ensemble was an even longer table. This one was covered in rolled-up scrolls and a lonely, paper-wrapped bouquet, also of white flowers. It had its own backing that supported an assortment of pictures, the most showcased one being that of the Sandaime Hokage without the robes that so loudly proclaimed his ranking to any who laid eyes on him. Without them, he looked thinner, more fragile than he typically did. Some would even go so far as to say that he looked even older than he actually was, if that was even possible.

The air simmering in between the spaces created by the assembled shinobi was so thick it was almost palpable. Thick and suffocating; filling lungs and nostrils with a sense of swallowing another's unspoken words and emotions with every breath.

As the organized rows became single-file lines that slowly made their way to the blank center table in order for each to place a single white flower on it, a small squeak was heard above the pressing of the almost unnatural silence.

It was Konohamaru. With his knuckles jammed into one of his eyes, he tried in vain to contain his uncontrollable sobs.

Seconds passed, and nobody made any move to comfort him. In fact, most didn't even spare him a passing glance. If he was going to be a decent shinobi one day, then it would do him better to learn what it was like to cry alone without anyone to come to him now versus at a later date. It was hard, and they knew it was hard, but just because this was his grandfather's funeral didn't mean that they would come to him. If anything, the fact that this funeral was for someone he was close to and cared about would probably break him into the habit of not crying sooner.

Finally, Iruka squatted beside him and wrapped an arm around his small, quaking shoulders; silently permitting the boy to bury his head into his shoulder and cry himself out. His gaze was burdened, thoughtful, and immensely sad as he watched the sluggish line of people gently place flowers on the table before giving the Sandaime's picture a long, meaningful and undecipherable look before slowly turning and walking away.

Almost nonchalantly, Naruto chanced looking at the boy who idolized him bawling into his former sensei's shoulder. Konohamaru had been relatively close with his grandfather, and hell, it was his _grandfather_, of course he was being torn up inside. It made sense, it really did. He himself was feeling bitingly empty at the loss of one of the few people who actually supported his ambitions and gave him a chance to be seen as an actual person. The Sandaime had been patient, kind, and comforting. He'd been a force to be reckoned with, despite his age, but he hadn't been closed or cold: he'd been everything Naruto wanted to be, and now he was gone.

Naruto wondered if it had been hard to be like that.

It went against the typical shinobi stereotype, and there were always people who mocked and resisted things that went against the grain. He wondered if the Third had ever had to deal with that sort of treatment, and if so, what he'd done to overcome it, because he obviously hadn't changed because of it. He wondered if there was a chance for something similar to happen to him, even though he was different. Thinking of it like that gave him hope that maybe it would.

Naruto finally tore his eyes away from Konohamaru and to the ground in front of him as he slowly made his way up towards the tables with his flower. When he reached the table and put his flower down, he looked into the eyes staring at him from behind of the glass of the picture frame. The emotion within them was minimal, but somehow, it seemed as if they were saying all and more than words could ever hope to describe.

_Maybe one day I can be a little like you, old man_, he silently said before tearing his eyes away and going back to his place.

As time passed and people continued to walk up to that table and put down their flowers, Naruto began to notice that most of them were looking at the Sandaime's picture much as the same way he had. It was almost as if each of them were having silent conversations with it. He wondered what they were saying –what they _could_ be saying. He wondered what they were thinking, what they were remembering, what things Sarutobi had done to and for them to make their lives a little brighter.

It was true, and later, when some of the older shinobi were discussing it, it became apparent that that was something he did quite often. In small, seemingly insignificant ways they never acknowledged until later, he had helped each and every single one of them in making their worlds a little more bearable at least once. A kind smile, reaching out and mussing hair, sharing a tasty treat, a much needed hug, or simply silently standing there and offering the comfort of his presence when the loneliness became too much to bear. Even though it was something shinobis _weren't_ supposed to be doing, he did it all, and never once was he looked down upon for it. Along with all of his other duties and obligations, he somehow managed to live with the villagers he protected, and that was something that none of them could really say that they took the time to do.

A lot of the time they were too busy with themselves to be bothered with the woes of others unless it was mission-related, yet the one who had more to worry about than any of them had been able to expend the time and effort to be there for and care about the little things they couldn't be bothered with. And strangely enough, it was those same little things that he was really being remembered by now that he was gone.

They agreed that that was probably what made him so great. That he still cared, right up until the end. It was not really common knowledge, but a proven fact that being a shinobi sapped a lot of one's ability to care about more than themselves or the big events that weren't happening to them. Their careers did a lot to nullify that; it was simply too stressful that without apathy, it would be stressful enough to break their minds completely.

They all bore at least some of its effects in their characters, and they barely noticed it. It was far too common amongst their ranks for them to realize that they were far too apathetic for it to be considered healthy, and they both admired and respected the anomaly that had been the Sandaime. He had been what they wished they still had the ability to be even while he was the feared authority figure none of them had the desire to fight. He managed to go as far as he did without becoming unhealthily nonchalant; he had been able to sincerely care about the little things as much as the big things, and his mind hadn't broken.

Maybe it was something to work towards.


End file.
